


Timeout

by Mscrwth



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, New Caprica, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mscrwth/pseuds/Mscrwth
Summary: Originally written for the sixth makelaurahappy challenge, which was to 'make Laura happy by not being dead'.
Relationships: Laura Roslin/Tom Zarek
Kudos: 3





	Timeout

When Cylon Centurions march into view over the next rise, Laura Roslin curses loud enough to startle the people around her. She ignores their incredulous stares as they gape in shock at her un-Presidential, un-teacherly vocabulary; starts forward towards the front of the crowd huddled around the trucks that brought them towards what she fast realizes is a killing grounds. She cannot believe this, cannot believe this is happening; not after surviving a nuclear holocaust, a near fatal bout with cancer, at least one assassination attempt, not to mention the various and sundry other crises the Gods, the Cylons and the frakking Universe saw fit to throw her way. After all that, she cannot believe a frakking Cylon firing squad is what will finally do her in.  
  
Fuming, she shoulders her way through the crowd, to do what she does not know - glare those chrome-domes into submission perhaps? her idle brain supplies - but she’ll be damned if she cowers behind her people when the threat of danger is imminent. And yes, thank you very much, they are still her people, they never ceased to be. Even though they threw her away like a wet rag when Baltar plied them with false promises, she never stopped feeling responsible for them.  
  
A sudden hand around her wrist tugs her backwards, just as the Centurions flip back their claw like hands and point their guns at them. It's Tom Zarek, pulling her away towards the back of one of the trucks, making her stumble a bit with the force of his urgency to get them out of the line of fire.  
  
When bullets start flying, her own survival instinct finally kicks in. She grabs Zarek by the front of his jumpsuit and throws them both down the embankment. They tumble down the steep incline, hitting rocks and tree stumps, clinging to each other for dear life before they come to a stop at the bottom of the ravine.  
  
For a long moment she just lies there, trying to catch her breath, while the crack of gunfire sounds from above. It's a gunfight, she realizes, not an execution. The insurgents must have gotten wind of what was about to transpire here. Soon the noise tapers off and she thinks she hears a cheer and closes her eyes; she’s giddy with relief, out of breath now not because of their tumble down the hill but with the sheer force of her relief. Thanking the Gods she so recently cursed for once again interceding on their behalf she pushes her hands to the ground, intending to get to her feet. It is only then that the more earthly thought registers that she’s half lying on top of Tom Zarek and that, despite the circumstances, he’s sporting an impressive hard on. Lightning fast, she scoots back, tries to make light of their compromising position. Ignore it, and it will go away, she tells herself, even as her eyes slide down his body towards his nether regions of their own accord and he evidence to the contrary stares her right in the face.  
  
“You alright, Tom?” Her skin tingles where his erection pressed against her leg, she’s flushed with the rush of adrenalin caused by their close quarters tumble, her throat tightens, and her voice catches with the unexpected thrill of being wanted.  
  
“Yeah. Been a while since I had a woman throw me to the ground,” he jokes. He’s breathless and covered in dust and grime and he’s never looked as good to her as he does right now, with all of his pretenses stripped away. She thinks he likely never will again. She tells herself that though he let Baltar lock him up rather than participate in his pathetic excuse for a government, he’s still the man that put the little frakweasel in the seat of power in the first place; her seat. Her inner diatribe does nothing to tamp down rampant thoughts of stripping him naked and having her way with him. “Not quite as much fun as I remember,” Zarek adds, blithely unaware of her musings. She could swear she saw him wink at her somewhere in there too and smirks down at him.  
  
“Heh.” She feels laughter bubbling up inside of her, threatening to spill over like soda fizzing from a can when you shake it too hard. A rather apt metaphor; their tumble down the incline has shaken her and she thinks on the way down she managed to hit every protrusion of rock, every shrub, oh, and Zareks head, twice. It’s hard, just like she imagined. Their fall left her jittery; her heart beats a mad tattoo against the cage of her ribs, her blood hums and fizzes in her veins. She’s alive and thankful for it; she thinks that might have something to do with the laughter threatening to erupt, the tingle she feels under Zareks openly flirty gaze.  
  
They start back up the incline when the gunfire has died down and as they climb, she feels a smile bloom on her face when she hears colonial voices talking, whooping in relief. It’s a tough march back up to the embankment, loose rocks and gravel continues to slide under her feet, making her stumble; her bound hands are of no use and her body aches with burgeoning bruises. She pushes on regardless, eager to get up there, share in the victory, and get a sense of what the frak happened.  
  
“You alright down there?” Tyrol’s voice drifts down towards them, sounding like music to her ears. They have him to thank for their unlikely rescue, she knows instinctively.  
  
“Oh my Gods.” The heartfelt expletive comes out in a mad rush. Her smile grows wider, she feels lightheaded, filled with nervous energy and something more, something she cannot identify. “It’s good to see you Chief.”  
  
“Good to see you too Ma’am.”  
  
Cally steps into view and he hugs her to him. “What happens now? Where do we go from here?” the young woman asks as she burrows into her husband’s side and looks up at him.  
  
“We’re going home,” Tyrol replies, hugging his wife closer. He sends one of his beautiful smiles down Laura’s way where she stands stock still halfway up the embankment, Zarek at her back. At Chief’s next words Laura feels her heart flutter in her stomach. “We’re going home. Admiral Adama is on his way. We’re getting off this rock; we’re going back to Galactica.”  
  
It’s as if all the breath has suddenly left her body, she bends at the waist, gasps for air. That strange, unnamed feeling fizzes through her again and she casts her gaze heavenwards, stands gazing at the cloudless sky as if in supplication for a long moment.  
  
Finally, it’s Zarek who brings her out of her trance, out of herself. He gently pushes against her and she shakes herself, half stumbles, and half crawls the last few feet upwards. She grasps Tyrol’s outstretched hand when he proffers it to her and he easily pulls her up onto the embankment, leaving Zarek to fend for himself. Tyrol’s movements are surprisingly gentle as he slices through the bindings at her wrists, rubs her arms to restore the circulation. Despite the infinite care with which he handles her, Laura winces and he takes her hands in his own, intently examines the cuts and bruises her bonds left on the skin of her wrists.  
  
Satisfied, apparently, that she’s not about to keel over on him, he lets go of her hands, but not before grasping her fingers lightly in his, squeezing them gently. “We’ll take care of that Ma’am. The entrance to the caves is not far from here. We’ll call Cottle; he’ll fix you up in no time.”  
  
“It’s okay Chief, it’s nothing.”  
  
“Well we’d all feel a lot better knowing that for sure.” Cally comes up beside her, throws an arm around Laura’s shoulder with a familiarity born of living next to each other in tents for months on end. Nothing much stays private when all that separates you is two reams of canvas and a foot of nothingness between them. The young woman leads Laura away down towards the resistance caves where, Cally tells her, she is to hide out until Adama comes to rescue them. News of their escape is bound to reach the Cylons; it's not safe for them to be up top. Even less safe, Laura amends the young woman's statement and Cally nods her head sagely.  
  
As they make their way through the caves, people bow and smile at her, some kneel like they did once before, when she became their savior the first time, others reach out to touch her as if to make sure she's real and yes, alive, still. Each touch leaves a brand on her skin as she moves passed. She acknowledges them all with a brief smile but doesn't stop, their faith galvanizes her, even as it burns her, stokes that strange feeling bubbling up in her higher and higher.  
  
Cally leads her onwards, towards the back of the caves, where she finds they’ve already arranged to set aside a corner for her, way down in the back where she won’t be disturbed; they even curtained it off with blankets to afford her some privacy. It’s sweet and she’s touched but bummed out too. It’s still another downgrade; from her comfortable apartment in Caprica City to the cramped, only semi-private quarters on Colonial One, to a leaky, drafty, tent, to a curtained off corner of a frakking cave. When they get off of this frakking rock, Laura promises herself, she’s making a play for the Admirals quarters.  
  
Moving into the makeshift quarters, Laura sighs in appreciation when she spies a table with a bowl of water sitting on top, a small hand towel and some soap, even a mirror and a hairbrush. There’s a cot too, set against the far wall, blankets neatly folded on top of a thin pillow. She thanks Cally profusely, telling the young woman that she’s going to freshen up a bit, admonishing her not to disturb Cottle, that she’s fine. Cally hugs her gently, if a bit awkwardly, closes the curtains behind her when she leaves and Laura is finally, blessedly, alone.  
  
She drops her jacket in a corner, simultaneously toeing off her shoes, her socks, sheds her sweater and the blouse underneath. The air is cold on her bare skin and she shudders a bit as she reaches behind her to unfasten the clasp of her bra. A sudden, sharp pain shoots across her shoulder, making her wince and drop her hands. She grabs the mirror, twists around to try and see what caused it and instead catches sight of Tom Zarek, standing just outside her private sanctum, unabashedly ogling her through a gap in the curtains. When he realizes he’s been caught staring, he doesn’t retreat but instead steps forward and closes the curtains behind him securely. She’s rooted to the spot, clad only in slacks and a rather utilitarian bra. She finds herself cursing her lack of foresight and giggles a bit at the foolish notion. She tamps down on her ill timed mirth, she should be furious with him. Instead something stirs in her, that something that’s been with her from the moment they went down that hill together.  
  
Still, he’s Zarek and she owes it to herself to scoff at him. “What do you want?”  
  
“Right now, what I want is for you not to think of me as the enemy.” He looks at her so earnestly she can’t help but feel chastised.  
  
“Oh,” she stutters stupidly, immediately berating herself for her inarticulate reply, feeling all of sixteen, not like the President she was and the schoolteacher she is.  
  
Silence falls between them, heavy with what remains unspoken; he’s the first to break it. “Need some help?” he asks, gesturing at her shoulder, not taking his eyes off her.  
  
She realizes she does. The pain in her shoulder, having awakened, is veering towards the uncomfortable; she thinks maybe she’s bleeding a bit too. “Yeah,” she breathes. He’s already gotten an eyeful, she rationalizes, modesty is overrated anyway. Besides, who else is she going to call on for help except Cally? Cally in turn will probably insist on calling in Cottle and Laura thinks their cranky CMO probably has better things to do than attend to her scrapes and bruises.  
  
A bit impatiently, Zarek swirls his fingers, indicating for her to turn around. “Let me see.”  
  
She turns her back to him, uses her other arm to sweep her hair across, away from her shoulder and after a moment’s hesitation, she feels his hands, warm on her skin. He bends towards her as he examines her injury and his breath is hot against her back, his body radiates heat in the chill air.  
  
“It’s just a small cut,” he says, “and a nice bruise. Nothing too bad. It’s already stopped bleeding, I’ll just clean you up and you’ll be right as rain.”  
  
She misses his warmth when he steps away, moves towards the water bowl and wets the towel. In a flash, he’s back, gently administering to her wound, touching her almost tenderly and heat pools in her belly. Her skin flushes as his fingers stray and his ministrations turn into a caress. After a moment, the towel goes flying in the direction of the bowl, landing just short and fluttering to the floor. His lips are on the skin of her neck; a nervous snort escapes her as his hair tickles that sensitive spot just under her ear. Her heady giggles soon morph into a moan when his hands slide up her waist, reach around front to clasp her breasts.  
  
She shouldn’t be doing this but she needs this, Gods how she needs this. She loves what he’s doing to her, hates how he makes her feel, loves how she feels. She fights it, Gods she fights it; the Prophet, the former President, the Teacher versus Laura, the woman. The fight, though fierce, lasts only a moment. Laura emerges victorious; her more virtuous counterparts are down for the count.  
  
Decision made, she turns in Zareks arms, attacks his mouth with abandon. As they kiss, she pushes him backwards, tugging at the fastenings of his jumpsuit, finally ripping it open when it doesn’t want to do her bidding. The back of his knee bumps against the edge of her cot and he tumbles to the mattress, taking her with him. He’s on his back, his jumpsuit still around his ankles, his erection tenting the front of his boxers, poking her hip as she lies sprawled across him. The feel of his hard, hot length makes her flush with desire. Quick with need, she jumps up, steps out of her slacks, slides her panties down her legs, putting a little effort into it when she notices him eyeing her appreciatively. When she starts to reach for the fastenings of her bra, forgetting herself for a moment, she cannot suppress a small groan. He sits up, grabs her hips, and pulls her towards him.  
  
“Let me,” he murmurs, his hot breath a tattoo of desire painted against her skin.  
  
She lets her arms fall to the side, steps between his spread legs; his dark head is at a level with her stomach, his hair brushes tantalizingly against the underside of her breasts. Nimble fingers undo the clasp of her bra and her breasts spill free, one of his hands travels up towards her good shoulder, the other trails down towards the small of her back and he gently urges her down a bit. She gladly complies and as his mouth captures a nipple, she buries her hands in his hair, throws her head back and moans as he suckles her, laves her breasts, kisses a path from the one to the other and back again, bites down on her puckered aureole and then soothes the sting with soft lips and a smooth, wet tongue.  
  
All the while, his large, knowing hands continue to stroke the skin of her back, her arms, the twin globes of her ass, her hips; fingers trailing down the back of thighs then up the front. His thumbs drift down towards the curls at the apex of her thighs and she almost keens under the weight of her want.  
  
“Spread for me.”  
  
She spreads her legs, all self consciousness gone in the heat of desire. His fingers trace up and down her outer lips, carefully skirt around her clit, never quite touching her where she wants him to touch her the most. Carefully, stealthily, he inserts one long finger up into her, moves it in and out while he continuous his sweet torture of her breasts. When finally, his thumb lands on her clit, and starts to rub her pleasure centre in small, clever circles her knees all but give out and for a moment his hands are all that is keeping her upright.  
  
Her sex is heavy, full and pouty, slick with her juices; she feels her wetness trickle down the inside of her thigh when he withdraws his finger, inserts two as he starts to kiss his way down her abdomen. He tongues her belly button, slowly licks his way back and forth from hip to hip across her belly, teasing her as he makes his way down to where she needs him most. As if of their own accord, her hips begin to move up and down, back and forth, trying to move in opposition to his movement, hungry for him to pleasure her with his talented mouth. When he finally reaches his destination, the groan that escapes her, she’s sure, is loud enough to bring the cave down around their ears but of course it doesn’t and she wouldn’t care if it did. She’s awash in a sea of pure pleasure as he licks her from top to bottom, forces his tongue in and out of her wetness and sucks hard on her clit.  
  
The sudden sharp bliss of her orgasm blindsides her, makes her knees buckle and his free hand moves towards her hip to steady her. He withdraws his fingers and his hands slide up her body as she gingerly lowers herself to the floor; the fingers of his right hand, slick with her juices, leaving a wet, warm trail on her skin. She sits on her knees before him for a moment, head lowered as she tries to catch her breath, her hands on his knees, hair fanned out over his thighs. Gathering herself at last, she sits up and reaches for his cock, squeezes his length through the worn fabric of his boxers. She lifts the elastic at is waist, only now noticing that he’s in surprisingly good shape for a man his age, he’s broad-chested, his arms are still toned, his stomach still mostly flat. He lifts his hips and when his cock springs free from the confines of his underwear she cannot help but lick her lips at the sight of him. He’s about average in length but thick, with a nicely flared head.  
  
Looking up at him with a lascivious smile she takes his heavy weight in hand and slides her fingers down the silky smooth length of his cock while she bends forward, intent on taking him into her mouth. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“Too much?”  
  
“Yeah. Been a long time, remember? I won’t last long with you touching me like that. Won’t last long, period, no sense in rushing things.”  
  
“True,” she says as she gets up, “The same goes for me, the been a while bit, I mean.”  
  
“How about we let you control things then,” he says with a lopsided smile.  
  
She chuckles as kneels down on the mattress with her knees either side of his hips. “Don’t I always?”  
  
“Ah, Laura,” he sighs as she positions his head at her entrance and slowly starts to slide down his length. “That you do, that you do.”  
  
Out of nowhere, she suddenly convulses with laughter at his expression, part smirk, part sulk, all studious concentration as he tries not to come on the spot. Her erratic movement makes her slide down his wide cock faster than is comfortable. She steadies her downslide with a hand on his shoulders as she watches his face scrunch up, his eyes slam shut.  
  
“Whoa,” she breathes as she gets her giggles under control. She starts pushing down on him. He keeps very still, allowing her to set the pace and she’s grateful, it truly has been a long time and Adar had been long and lean, nowhere near as big around as Zarek is. Finally, she takes all of him in, feels his balls squashed underneath her ass as she sinks down the last inch. She takes a moment to adjust to the feel of him inside her, that feeling of fullness that she hasn’t experienced in such a long time, then begins to travel back up his length, reversing her movement. Once only the tip of his cock is still buried inside her, she hovers there until his eyes open.  
  
“Okay?” he all but stutters.  
  
“So good,” she breathes as she slides down, taking him inside in one smooth motion. His eyes slam shut again as his hips buck up and then they’re off. He jerks up into her as she slams down on him. Her fingers claw at his shoulders as his hands clasp her ass in a bruising grip while his mouth tries to capture her breasts, teeth grazing her nipples as they bounce past. It’s not long until she feels his cock swell and she’s pretty close to the edge as well, one hand drifts down from his shoulder to her clit and she starts to rub herself when his fingers clamp around her wrist.  
  
“Hold on, keep still,” he grounds out. “Wanna make this last.” His face is flushed, as she’s sure hers is. They are both breathing erratically, both glistening with sweat. She feels it cooling on her skin, shivers as the chill in the air reasserts itself. She watches his breathing even out, keeping time with her own; keeps still, savoring the feeling of his thick cock, filling her so completely. Finally, he opens his eyes, locks gazes with her.  
  
"Get on your hands and knees," he all but orders.  
  
She does as he says, climbs off of him and throws a small smirk his way that tells him in no uncertain terms that this will be the only time she obeys his commands. When she looks down, she catches sight of his cock, glistening with her juices and has to steady herself on his shoulders as her knees turn to jelly. Smirking, he gets up and toes off his boots, lets his jumpsuit, still caught around his ankles al this time, fall to the floor. He leans one knee on the cot and gestures for her to get up on the mattress.  
  
Getting on her hands and knees in front of him, she arches her back, spreads her knees, opening herself up in front of him. Holding her hips he pushes into her again. With his hands on her hips he pulls her back against his abdomen with every thrust he makes, sinking deeper into her all the time. The feeling of his balls slapping against her clit on every down stroke is exquisite, it makes her go a little wild.  
  
And why not, she thinks, quelling that little voice inside of her that tells her this is dangerous. She needs this, needs to disperse the reckless energy coursing through her ever since her earlier near miss. It has been far too long since she felt this, experienced this. She needs this, there’s no harm in giving in to this sensual abandon, they are just frakking, quenching a physical need, it’s not like they are making love and that’s why it’s safe.  
  
It’s safe because she doesn’t love him, never will and this doesn’t mean anything, doesn’t get in the way of Bill and all that he means to her. Besides, she knows that when they get off this blasted rock, Zarek will never speak of this again, she didn’t get dubbed Madam Airlock being all nice and cuddly towards her enemies and she knows he knows it; knows too, that for all their rapport today, to her he will never be more than the enemy she keeps close. He will never speak of this again and neither will she, this will stay on New Caprica.  
  
Still, it’s dangerous too, and maybe that’s why she needs it all the more. Danger to offset the danger she found herself in only hours ago. A part of her still can’t believe she’s doing this and with Zarek to boot, but she almost died today and Bill is coming back, yes, but she has been shouldering the weight of the world alone for so long and there’s this feeling, tingling all along her nerve endings, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, something elusive that she needs to identify and thinking and acting in reverse like this might just do the trick.  
  
Zarek grabs her hips more tightly and all thoughts vanish. He slams into her almost brutally now and she relishes it, relishes the feel of his length moving in and out of her, the feeling of fullness. This is good, so good. This feral pounding is making her blood sing. He makes her feel alive, makes her feel strong and desirable and so much more besides. He lengthens his strokes, reaches around her and touches her clit, rubs it in rough circles and she is done for, finished and oh Gods, she feels him emptying himself deep inside her and she is coming so hard, so hard and somewhere in there the thought finally registers fully, she almost died today.  
  
“Now that was quite as much fun as I remember,” Zarek says with a satisfied smirk. She collapses across him in a boneless heap and lets go of it all, finally recognizing that elusive something for what it is, happiness. She lets it out in a fit of giggles that makes her sides ache, makes her shake with laughter. He looks at her with a bemused expression on his face. The sight of him, Tom Zarek, terrorist extraordinaire, all mussed and sated and looking at her almost reverently as she laughs and laughs and laughs is priceless and sets her off all over again. What a pair they make, the two of them, mortal enemies, barely civil with one another, now reluctant allies, frakking each other like randy teenagers. She knows that when they are back among the stars, they will revert to their barely civil ways when dealing with each other, but for now, right now, she doesn’t give a flying frak, she laughs and laughs and laughs until tears stream down her face and she’s breathless with it and he has to shut her up with a kiss.  
  
For now, right now, she’s just happy to be alive.


End file.
